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By:

Rajeev Puri

24 October 2024 at 5:11:37 am

Before Sholay, there was Mera Gaon Mera Desh

When the comedian and television host Kapil Sharma recently welcomed the veteran screenwriter Salim Khan onto his show, he made a striking claim. India, he joked, has a national bird and a national animal; it ought also to have a national film. That film, he suggested, would surely be Sholay. Few would quarrel with the sentiment. Released in 1975 and directed by Ramesh Sippy,  Sholay  has long been treated as the Everest of Hindi popular cinema -quoted endlessly, revisited by generations and...

Before Sholay, there was Mera Gaon Mera Desh

When the comedian and television host Kapil Sharma recently welcomed the veteran screenwriter Salim Khan onto his show, he made a striking claim. India, he joked, has a national bird and a national animal; it ought also to have a national film. That film, he suggested, would surely be Sholay. Few would quarrel with the sentiment. Released in 1975 and directed by Ramesh Sippy,  Sholay  has long been treated as the Everest of Hindi popular cinema -quoted endlessly, revisited by generations and dissected by critics. In 2025, the film marked its 50th anniversary, and the release of a digitally restored, uncut version introduced the classic to a new generation of viewers who discovered that its mixture of revenge drama, western pastiche and buddy comedy remains curiously durable. The film’s influences have been debated almost as much as its dialogues – from scenes taken by the Spaghetti westerns of Sergio Leone, particularly ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’ (1968) or to the narrative architecture of ‘Seven Samurai’ (1954) by Akira Kurosawa. Others note echoes of earlier Hindi films about bandits and frontier justice, such as ‘Khotey Sikke’ (1973) starring Feroz Khan. Yet, rewatching ‘Mera Gaon Mera Desh,’ directed by Raj Khosla, one cannot help noticing how many of the narrative bones of  Sholay  appear to have been assembled there first. Released in 1971,  Mera Gaon Mera Desh  was a major hit at the box office, notable for holding its own in a year dominated by the near-hysterical popularity of Rajesh Khanna. The thematic framework of the two films is strikingly similar. In  Sholay , the retired policeman Thakur Baldev Singh recruits two petty criminals - Jai and Veeru - to help him avenge the terror inflicted upon his village by the bandit Gabbar Singh. In  Mera Gaon Mera Desh , the set-up is not very different. A retired soldier, Jaswant Singh, seeks to protect his village from a ruthless dacoit and enlists the help of a small-time crook named Ajit. Even the villain’s name seems to echo across the two films. In Khosla’s drama, the marauding bandit played by Vinod Khanna is scene-stealing performance is called Jabbar Singh. In  Sholay , the outlaw who would become one of Indian cinema’s most memorable antagonists was Gabbar Singh. There is an additional irony in the casting. In  Mera Gaon Mera Desh , the retired soldier Jaswant Singh is played by Jayant - the real-life father of Amjad Khan, who would later immortalise Gabbar Singh in  Sholay . The connective tissue between the two films becomes even clearer in the presence of Dharmendra. In Khosla’s film he plays Ajit, a charming rogue who gradually redeems himself while defending the village. Four years later, Dharmendra returned in  Sholay  as Veeru, a similarly exuberant petty criminal whose courage and irrepressible humour make him one half of Hindi cinema’s most beloved buddy duo alongside Amitabh Bachchan as Jai. Certain visual motifs also appear to have travelled intact. In Khosla’s film, Ajit finds himself bound in ropes in the bandit’s den during a dramatic musical sequence. A similar image appears in  Sholay , where Veeru is tied up before Gabbar Singh while Basanti performs the now famous song ‘Jab Tak Hai Jaan.’ Other echoes are subtler but just as suggestive. Ajit’s pursuit of the village belle Anju, played by Asha Parekh, anticipates Veeru’s boisterous attempts to woo Basanti, portrayed by Hema Malini. Scenes in which Ajit teaches Anju to shoot recall the flirtatious gun-training sequence between Veeru and Basanti that became one of  Sholay ’s most cherished moments. Even the famous coin motif has a precedent. Ajit frequently tosses a coin to make decisions - a flourish that would later appear in  Sholay , where Jai’s coin toss becomes a running gag. Perhaps most intriguingly, the endings of the two films converge in their original form. In  Mera Gaon Mera Desh , the villain is ultimately killed by the hero. The uncut version of  Sholay  reportedly ended in a similar fashion, with Gabbar Singh meeting his death at the hands of Thakur Baldev Singh. However, censors altered the climax before the film’s 1975 release, requiring that Gabbar be handed over to the police instead. All this does not diminish  Sholay . Rather, it highlights the alchemy through which cinema evolves. The scriptwriting duo Salim–Javed took familiar ingredients and expanded them into a grander narrative populated by unforgettable characters and stylised action. On the 55 th  anniversary of  Mera Gaon Mera Desh , Raj Khosla’s rugged western deserves a renewed glance as the sturdy foundation on which a legend called  Sholay  was built. (The author is a political commentator and a global affairs observer. Views personal.)

Bouquet of Thorns: Maharashtra’s Sidelined Political Stalwarts

Updated: Dec 23, 2024

Bouquet of Thorns

In the poetry of Shanta Shelke, the verse, “Thorns hurt someone, and others cry in pain; for me, even a flower pricks—such is my fate!” resonates deeply with the plight of several political leaders in Maharashtra. Despite their steadfast contributions to their parties, leaders like Chhagan Bhujbal, Sudhir Mungantiwar, Deepak Kesarkar, Tanaji Sawant, and Abdul Sattar find themselves relegated to the sidelines in a season of political bouquets. Their stories reveal the complexities of modern Indian politics, where merit, loyalty, and power equations often collide in a volatile dance of inclusion and exclusion.


Among those excluded from the cabinet, Chhagan Bhujbal’s omission is perhaps the most glaring. Once the first Shiv Sainik to rebel against Balasaheb Thackeray—under the tutelage of Sharad Pawar—Bhujbal evolved into a formidable force in Maharashtra’s political arena. His leadership of the Akhil Bharatiya Mahatma Phule Samata Parishad, where he championed an independent census for Other Backward Classes (OBC), solidified his standing as an OBC icon across states like Maharashtra, Uttar Pradesh, and Gujarat.


Most recently, Bhujbal’s robust rebuttal of Maratha reservation activist Manoj Jarange-Patil helped his party weather electoral storms in the Vidhan Sabha elections. Yet, his efforts were insufficient to secure him a cabinet berth. Insiders suggest two reasons for this snub. First, Bhujbal’s nephew, Sameer Bhujbal, contested the Nandgaon assembly seat against Shiv Sena’s Suhas Kande, reportedly ruffling feathers with Chief Minister Eknath Shinde. Second, Bhujbal’s aggressive stance against Jarange-Patil, while strengthening his party’s OBC support, risked alienating Maratha voters.


Speculation now swirls around a potential gubernatorial appointment for Bhujbal. Yet, his exclusion marks a stark reminder of how even political heavyweights can find themselves at the mercy of electoral arithmetic and internal rivalries.


Sudhir Mungantiwar, a seven-time MLA and a trusted lieutenant of Union Minister Nitin Gadkari, also finds himself sidelined. His exclusion is widely attributed to his loss in the Lok Sabha elections and his fraught relationship with Deputy Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis.


Mungantiwar’s rivalry with Fadnavis reached a crescendo when Fadnavis backed Kishor Jorgewar’s candidacy in Chandrapur, an area long dominated by Mungantiwar. Jorgewar’s victory not only diminished Mungantiwar’s influence but also introduced an alternative power centre in the region. Further complicating matters, his uneasy ties with Hansraj Ahir, a former BJP MP, weakened his political footing.


Adding to his woes, Mungantiwar’s critics argue that his leadership style failed to evolve with the times. As the BJP pushes for younger faces and fresher narratives, the challenge for stalwarts like Mungantiwar lies in remaining relevant while navigating an increasingly crowded political stage. Observers say that Mungantiwar, once a towering figure in Vidarbha politics, must now adapt to his party’s emphasis on a younger, dynamic leadership to stay relevant.


In the ruling Shiv Sena led by Eknath Shinde, the sidelining of leaders like Deepak Kesarkar, Abdul Sattar and Tanaji Sawant reflects shifting priorities. Kesarkar, previously lauded for his diplomacy, found himself embroiled in a controversy after a viral altercation with a teacher, which dented his political capital.


Similarly, Abdul Sattar and Tanaji Sawant, despite their contributions, fell out of favour due to alleged missteps and internal dynamics within the Sena. Their exclusion underscores a broader trend within the Shinde camp: a recalibration of loyalties and priorities in the aftermath of its split from the Uddhav Thackeray faction.


Even within the Sena (Shinde camp), the focus on consolidating power under the leadership of Eknath Shinde has led to a more centralized decision-making structure, often at the expense of seasoned leaders. For these sidelined figures, the challenge lies in adapting to this new reality while remaining indispensable to the party’s future.


The sidelining of political stalwarts like Bhujbal, Mungantiwar and others offers a sobering lesson in the fickleness of power. Coalition politics, caste equations, and the need to balance regional aspirations often leave even seasoned leaders out in the cold.


The fates of Maharashtra’s sidelined leaders ought to serve as cautionary tales of the thorns hidden within every bouquet of success. Their plight underscores a broader truth in politics: survival demands reinvention, patience and the ability to read shifting winds. Those who can recalibrate alliances and redefine their relevance may yet reclaim their place in the corridors of power. Others, however, may find themselves consigned to the ash bin of political history, their downfall serving as case studies in underestimating the mercurial nature of public life.


For these leaders, survival demands a mix of patience, pragmatism and adaptability. In Maharashtra’s volatile political landscape, those who can recalibrate their alliances and reinvent their roles are more likely to endure. Even after all this, Bhujbal may yet find solace in a gubernatorial position, and Mungantiwar could well stage a comeback under Gadkari’s aegis. Then again, for others, the road back to relevance may be longer and fraught with uncertainty. The art of survival, as always, lies in enduring the prick while waiting for the next bloom.


(The author is a political observer. Views personal.)

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